


Cognitive Dissonance

by Hexmage



Category: League of Legends
Genre: (More accurately - enemies to acquaintances), Canon-Typical Violence, Enemies to Friends, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-06
Updated: 2020-11-08
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:41:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 19,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23513293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hexmage/pseuds/Hexmage
Summary: Jayce is certain of at least a few things in life. Coffee is best when freshly brewed, Piltover is the best place to live in all of Valoran, and Viktor is a madman with no redeeming qualities. Unfortunately, at least one of those isn’t true.(Or: Jayce comes to realize that not everything in life is in neat little moral categories. It only takes a series of unlikely events.)
Comments: 30
Kudos: 48





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone. This is my first genuine attempt at a multi-chapter fic in... quite some time. I do hope you'll enjoy it.  
> Of note: this takes place pre-retcon, so I highly recommend familiarizing yourself with Viktor and Jayce's previous lores, old Piltover and Zaun, and the Institute of War. All of this is available on the League wiki, and I am more than happy to clarify on points!

Being the Defender of Piltover - or Piltover’s Pride, the Hero of Piltover, whatever moniker the press has given him this month - was… something Jayce had not signed up for. He’d just wanted to do what was right - take back the crystal Viktor had stolen and stop whatever maniacal plan the so-called _Herald_ had put into motion. He hadn’t expected to be hailed as a hero right out of the weekly comic books.

But here he is, being the hero! He’d grown used to it: fighting on the Fields of Justice for his city-state, and… well, keeping tabs on Viktor in his spare time. The man had kept mostly to himself after Jayce had joined the Institute (Jayce wondered if it was from fear, or simply a calculation to keep out of trouble) and so he’d fallen into an easy routine of just…keeping an eye out for him and anyone else who could be a threat to Piltover.

In this case, he’s seen something.

* * *

 _Heard_ was more accurate, truthfully. Rumblings from Zaun about Viktor starting a new project, although he wasn’t fortunate enough to learn the specifics. Just that _something_ was happening - and that he should damn well go there to stop it. So he catches a ferry, sits awkwardly between two unimpressed Zaunites returning from a business conference, and finds himself in the city across the bay. The air quality was better than he remembered. It still smells of smoke and chemicals, but it didn’t cause his eyes to water… not like last time. He still knew the way to Viktor’s laboratory - the one he had caused to practically crash down around the man (or at least, what had once _passed_ as a man) and his followers. It was a walk from the docks, but it wasn’t as if he was going to risk his life on Zaun’s rickety transport system. A train car rumbled by overhead as he walks through the city, the metal columns supporting the track shuddering with the speed and weight. Right… he’ll turn here - duck into one of Zaun’s many alleys to remain unseen, and-

…A group of people met his gaze. A gang? Zaun was overrun with those, if Piltover’s newspapers were to be believed. But… the flashes of metal at some of their sides weren’t weapons. They were limbs, crafted with far-too-familiar alloys.

He dodges the first one that lunged at him, her right hook sailing past him. Dodges the second, catches the third with a swing of the Mercury Hammer - he was fine, wasn’t he? He’d thrown Viktor’s _acolytes_ aside before, the last time he was in Zaun. He was fine. He was the-

Something heavy and blunt connects with his head. He stays upright for a long enough time to consider that _maybe they weren’t out for blood last time_ , and then he drops to the grimy cobbles like a robot without a power source.


	2. Chapter One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jayce comes to in the worst possible place. Conversations ensue.

Jayce wakes up with a splitting headache. Well, at least _that_ was an indicator that he wasn’t dead. He looks around warily, eyes skimming over blank walls and filled bookshelves. There’s some things that look like scrapped projects strewn about, and he becomes _very aware_ of where he must be.

The deep Zaunite voice from behind him is just more proof. “You’re awake.”

Maybe he can pretend he’s not. Not out of some misguided notion that this whole situation will magically disappear - but maybe he can get Viktor to monologue like some sort of pulp villain… He squeezes his eyes shut.

There’s the clank of metal against hard flooring. “Are you photosensitive?”

 _Photosensitive_? Why would he be… oh, the probable head wound. Well, the jig is up. “No.”

“I bandaged your head wound. You may want it to be looked at by a doctor after this.”

“…I’m not following.”

Jayce watches in a mix of confusion and bleary interest as Viktor grabs a chair from a nearby worktable and flips it to face him. He sits down and immediately proceeds to stare at Jayce - Jayce _assumes_ it’s staring, but he really can’t tell and the light from Viktor’s lenses is making his headache worse.

“Due to some… misunderstandings, you are here. I thought now may be an appropriate time for us to discuss the Glorious Evolution once more.”

“I wouldn’t call blunt force trauma a great way to start a conversation.”

“It wasn’t my intention for you to be brought here, much less after a fight,” Viktor explains. “But you are here now.”

“…Let me guess. Your whole evil plan thing I heard about isn’t real and this is entirely a set-up by you.”

“By my acolytes, specifically,” he pauses a bit longer than Jayce thinks is socially appropriate or necessary, “regardless: the Evolution.”

“Some Piltovian scholar once said that the definition of insanity is trying the same thing and expecting different results,” Jayce quips. “I already gave you my answer.”

“That’s a commonly-misattributed quote - and in Zaun, that behavior is called perseverance.”

He’s really not getting the point, is he. “It doesn’t really matter who said it, or what we’re calling repetition. I said no two years ago, and I’m saying no again.”

“Because you’ve been operating under a misconception for those two years, partially due to our first meeting.”

“…I’m not really sure how ‘I think humanity would be better off as robots and I need the crystal your _research lab_ gave to you to achieve my idea’ can be made any more clear.”

“I offered you a partnership that would have transcended our city-states’ rivalries. I offered you the chance to be part of the _future_.”

“And I have no interest in that future. Now: are you going to let me get up and go home, or will I need to add being held against my will to my report to Cait and the Institute?”

While Champions were afforded a great deal of what some might call _legal leniency_ , Jayce was confident that that didn’t extend to charges of kidnapping… especially against another member of the League. Viktor had _far_ overstepped any immunity he’d have as a representative of Zaunite interests in the Institute of War.

Viktor is silent for a length of time that goes well past uncomfortable and into downright _unsettling_. “You can’t leave.”

“…I’m sorry?” Is he going to die here?

“The ferries aren’t running anymore. You were unconscious for quite some time.”

Of course. Of _course_. So he was just… knocked out in a chair in Viktor’s… office… for hours. A quick glance at himself confirms that he’s still got all of his limbs - it was paranoia, yes, but well-deserved paranoia given Viktor’s reputation.

“Maybe I could hire someone to take me across,” he replies. You could get anything in Zaun for the right price, after all.

“They’ll charge more than what you have in your wallet. Or did you forget that you’re a Piltovian in Zaun?”

He hates that Viktor’s right - and being sarcastic about it, too. Pretty rich coming from the man that claims to have bested all his emotions. Well… if he can’t leave by boat… “You wouldn’t want me as a houseguest.”

“No, I wouldn’t.”

“So I should go.”

“…And get scammed by every hotel in the city, assuming they let you in. Simply because I do not _want_ you as a guest does not mean that I will not offer you a room.”

“Out of the goodness of your robot heart,” another one-liner in true Hero fashion. If Viktor’s offering him a room, does this mean it’s his _house_ that they’re in? The thought of him having an actual house is something Jayce hadn’t really… considered. But it makes sense. The man can’t live in his lab. Especially not now.

“I’m a cyborg. A robot is a machine that has never been organic. Take Orianna, for example - while she may have human memories, her chassis has never been organic.”

“Thanks for the lecture,” wait a second. “But you want to _be_ a robot.”

“My goal is to have a non-organic form that contains my consciousness. There is not a term for the concept currently, so I suppose robot works for a layperson.”

Hearing it explained so casually really made Jayce want to go back to talking about housing arrangements. Viktor was talking about leaving his body behind as if he’d simply be changing out of a set of clothes… and he wondered why no one flocked to his cause.

“…Weren’t we talking about a guest bedroom.”

“Oh. Yes. It’s down the hall, as is a bathroom. The doors to them are open.”

If he weren’t living the situation, Jayce would laugh. Viktor had a house. A house with a _guest bedroom_ and a _guest bathroom_ … as if he were some sort of middle-aged homeowner in Piltover. What will he find in those rooms? Matching curtains? A complete set of bath towels? It was _utterly bizarre_. The idea of Viktor having wall decorations nearly sends him into a laughing fit - one that he covers up with a strategic cough. It’s not funny. The scenario he’s in is bordering on insanity, but he’d rather laugh about it than let the creeping dread engulf him. He gets to his feet.

“…Uh. Goodnight,” Jayce says on impulse.

Viktor is impassive.

* * *

Jayce, predictably, does not sleep. He lies awake in the uncomfortably stiff-sheeted bed instead - surely Viktor has some sort of plot, some machinations behind the scenes. Maybe this whole thing was a ruse! But for _what_?

He has some sleuthing to do.

Eventually, Jayce is pretty sure that it’s late enough for investigation. Viktor presumably sleeps, considering he had admitted that at least _some_ parts of him were still organic, and with any luck he’d be asleep now. (Or staying up to catch Jayce in the act of looking around, but Jayce is willing to take that risk.) His first task is finding the Mercury Hammer. Not just for protection’s sake in case he needed it, but because he had _no_ desire for Viktor to have it in his possession for any longer than necessary. The Hammer was _his_ invention, and it being in someone else’s hands made Jayce feel profoundly uncomfortable.

It wasn’t in the lab. He’d not seen it in the hall. Another room, then. He could start at the ground floor and... well, hope he didn’t open the door to Viktor’s lair. (Calling it a bedroom doesn’t seem right.)

The first door he tries is the entrance to a small bathroom - the one Viktor had mentioned. Jayce hadn’t bothered to use it. There’s a pinkish ring in the sink. When was the last time Viktor cleaned? Or was Zaun’s tap water simply _that_ bad?

The next door creaks loud enough to wake the dead when he opens it. There’s no angry Zaunite on the other side, fortunately for Jayce.

Or perhaps unfortunately, because this room makes no sense to him. It’s another bedroom, much larger than the one he was provided. And every surface in it is covered in enough dust to make his throat itch with each of his breaths. The air in the room is dead. Deader than the rest of the stagnant, stale air that Zaun has to offer. Jayce steps inside, taking in the bedroom with several sweeps of his eyes.

A king-sized bed, nightstands on either side.

A dresser with several photograph frames, although their contents are obscured by what has to be years of dust.

Two small... vases, almost? Placed carefully on another surface.

Jayce moves to wipe away the dust on the photographs - he’s curious, and he’s certain that no one could blame him for it. If this is Viktor’s house, then _what_ is this room? He’s interrupted by the sound of Viktor’s voice. He’d not even heard footsteps.

“Get out.”

Jayce whirls around to face the cyborg. His customary mask is still on, but his clothes are different. Pajamas? He’s not wearing that _creepy_ third arm of his. “…What _is_ this?”

“Not somewhere for you to be. Leave.”

“Didn’t take you to be the type to hoard,” Jayce says nonchalantly, wiping away years of dust with his hand. A photograph stares up at him - one he doesn’t have time to process, however, as the Machine Herald makes a noise that his mask (gods, let it be a mask - he’d seen the straps, but it hardly felt like proof) twists into something almost primal. Viktor grabs him and practically drags him from the room.

“You are testing my hospitality, Jayce. Don’t- never open that door.”

As if Jayce was _ever_ going to come back to this madhouse, especially now.

“What, your big secret behind-“ the photograph’s vague subjects come into his mind. A man, a woman, and a young child - he knew that much from proportions. Couldn’t be...

“Are you usually this rude to your hosts, Defender? Must I lock you away in order to ensure a peaceful night’s rest for yourself?”

“ _What_ did you do to your wife?”

That question stops the Herald in his tracks. “…What?”

“Or your kid. How long ago was that photo? _What did you do to them_?” Jayce knows he’s wading into dangerous waters, but he’s far too intrigued… and truthfully, worried. Viktor had a family. Viktor had a _face_. And neither of those are things he’d seen before now.

“What?” the question comes again, filled with even more confusion than previous. Viktor, emoting in something other than sarcasm? Jayce would’ve said it’d happen when Shurima froze over, before now.

“Your family. In the photo. They’re not here anymore - _what did you do to them?_ ”

Viktor’s hands twitch. Jayce realizes with a start that the other man isn’t wearing a glove over his right hand - it’s… normal. Not even grotesquely scarred. Somehow, that’s even worse. His own gloved hands clench into fists.

“You were _married_ , you… you… _where are they?!_ ” Thoughts are crashing into his head. Horrible ideas, atrocities, every evil thing Zaun could throw at him. The best answer was that they’d left him to his madness. The worst he did not allow himself to consider.

“I have _never_ been married.”

The words hit Jayce like cold water. If that wasn’t Viktor’s wife and child, who was it? It had to be related to him, because Viktor was crazy - but not crazy enough to get defensive over someone else’s family photos…

“…You. You’re the _kid_ ,” and he wants desperately to sneak another glance at the photograph, as if seeing Viktor’s face in childhood would answer all the questions he has, “Where are they? What did you _do_ to them?”

How old is that photograph? How old is this room? Does Viktor have blood from parricide on his hands?

“ _You_ have no right to ask questions!” the other man responds, mask’s lenses blazing a sickly yellow. “You have _destroyed_ my hospitality. Return to the guest room or I will kick you into the streets!”

Viktor’s anger - hot, like molten metal - catches Jayce by surprise. He wants to fight back, but he has no weapon to protect himself - so he acquiesces. “I- fine. I’ll be out of your hair with the first ferry. Just give me the Mercury-”

“Done. I will provide it tomorrow morning.”

Jayce shakes his head for a moment, trying to soothe his racing and irrational thoughts. He nods soon after, leaving the room under Viktor’s hawklike gaze.


	3. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jayce talks to Caitlyn about the whole kidnapping thing. Later: the first of many moral crises!

He’s unceremoniously kicked out of Viktor’s house at a time that can’t be past seven in the morning. The Defender doesn’t even get breakfast. Not that he would have eaten anything Viktor cooked.

Jayce makes it back to Piltover an hour or so later, his brain nearly telling him to kiss the dock he disembarks onto. Must be the sleep deprivation. He’s still lucid enough to undo and dispose of the bandage Viktor had put on his head (the wound doesn’t _feel_ deep, so he simply brushes his hair over it) before making his way to Piltover’s police headquarters and barging into Caitlyn’s office. He’s halfway through starting up the coffeemaker when he feels her disapproving gaze on his back.

“Mama cat kick the tom out?” she says in her posh accent, eyebrow raised. Jayce wishes he _wasn’t_ known as Piltover’s Most Eligible Bachelor, sometimes. It wasn’t even that well-earned of a title!

“Kidnapped,” he grunts, staring at the coffee as it slowly percolates.

Caitlyn’s joking tone is gone in an instant. Did she pull out a _notebook_? “When? By who? To where? How did you escape? Are they still in the area?”

“Last night. Viktor. Zaun. He kicked me out. Yeah, probably.”

The Sheriff’s forehead crinkles in confusion. “Viktor, Zaun, yes… letting you _go_? That’s not characteristic of a kidnapping.”

“He, uh, asked me to join his Evolution. Again,” Jayce replies, grabbing the steaming cup of coffee and taking a tentative sip. Finding the temperature bearable, he begins to down the whole mug.

“He kidnapped you to question _that_?”

“Beats me why. Said it was too late for the ferries to be running and gave me his guest bedroom.”

Caitlyn’s stunned silence urges Jayce to continue on. “I went looking around his house and found this room just _full_ of dust. Think it was his parents’. No clue what he did to them… nothing good, probably.”

“Don’t assume based off of partial evidence,” Caitlyn chides. “Off the record, however… I would be quite inclined to agree. You should report this to the Institute - cases like this aren’t in my jurisdiction.”

“Maybe he’ll lose Institute funding for this… if they even fund him. Or his immunity. Maybe even his Championship.”

“Perhaps. Anything else?”

“No, Cait.”

“Alright - get out of my office and go home, Jayce. You need to clean up.”

Jayce sets the empty mug down and leaves without another word. In her office, what Caitlyn says might as well be law.

* * *

It feels far too soon for Jayce to be called to another training match by the Institute. He’d been mulling over how best to report what had happened to him - Cait had made it obvious that it was out of her jurisdiction, since the whole thing had occurred entirely on foreign soil. The training match was enough to motivate him: after the game, he could go to the Summoners’ office and file a verbal or written report. He’d just have a nice, easy warm-up… maybe Viktor would be there. That would be cathartic. A match with no legal stakes, no arguments over land or inventions or war… like most matches concerning Piltover these days. Something purely for the entertainment of the masses - and to keep Champions’ skills well-sharpened.

Of course, Viktor _was_ in the match… and of course, not in any way cathartic. They’d been placed on the same team due to someone’s idea of a joke… or just bad luck.

“Viktor.”

“Merriweather," and _of course_ , Viktor continued to refuse to refer to him by anything but his last name.

The match proceeded as normal. Jayce was thankful beyond measure that he was an entire lane away from the Machine Herald, although that changed as soon as the Summoners began to gear up for teamfights. The two found themselves nearly back-to-back as the enemy team closed in, them having quickly dispatched the rest of Jayce’s team.

“I’ll deploy a Gravity Field. Knock them into it,” Viktor says sharply, beginning to raise his hand to signal.

Jayce glowers but shifts his Mercury Hammer back into its default form. Viktor smoothly points to an area left of the encroaching team, and his Summoner just as quickly deploys the device. It springs up, purple energy crackling as the machine activates. Jayce takes a breath and plunges into the fray, hammer connecting with Katarina’s side and clipping Swain. The assassin is practically shot across the lane - and directly into the Gravity Field.

“Score!” he mutters, and rounds on the rest of the team. He can hear the crackle of Viktor’s Death Ray and smell something that is _most likely_ burnt hair and skin. Jayce hates striking the killing blows up close.

Viktor seems to have no qualms about the matter. The process repeats, Jayce batting the enemy team into the Field. He straightens as the Mercury Hammer transforms into its cannon variant, deploying an Acceleration Gate as he turns to face Viktor. He’d meant to fire off a charged shot to finish off the other team, but… it looked as if Viktor had deployed a Chaos Storm as Jayce had lost himself in the fray.

The Herald stepped over the downed bodies. “Let us end this.”

* * *

The post-match lobby filters out quickly, as it always does. Jayce helps himself to the room’s supply of lemon-infused water. Viktor is standing stiffly in the opposite corner. Is he watching Jayce? Trying to see if he’s afraid? The Defender is _never_ afraid, especially not of a cyborg he’s seen in _pajamas_. He’d go to the offices now to file the report.

Viktor exits after him.

No big deal. Maybe the Zaunite had somewhere to go. Somewhere to go that was on the same path as Jayce. Would it be silly to duck down a hallway and see if he followed? Probably. He’d just confront the other man if it continued.

“Stop following me,” Jayce finally says.

“ _You_ are following _me_.”

“No, I’m _not_ ,” what is he, _twelve_?

“So we are conveniently headed to the same location. The Summoners’ office,” Viktor replies, voice unamused.

“Yeah- er, wait. What?”

The Zaunite sighs, mask amplifying his breath into something like static. “Must I spell it out to you, Merriweather? I am reporting myself to the Summoners.”

Jayce feels as if he should be picking his jaw up off the floor with how far it dropped. “I- sorry, what?”

“I committed a crime.”

“Well, yes, several-“

“You were _kidnapped_ for me,” Viktor says tiredly, his mask’s lenses fixing on Jayce’s eyes. “Unprofessional. Emotional. Foolhardy, even - to accept them offering you…”

“So… you’re… turning yourself in,” this should make him ecstatic, shouldn’t it? He doesn’t even have to deal with paperwork and Summoners and their piercing eyes… Why does he just feel _nervous_?

“As I said, I am reporting myself. Will you stop following me, now?”

The Defender shifts from foot to foot, leaning on the Mercury Cannon. Is Viktor actually _talking_ about himself? Like a normal person? Not like an unnatural mix of man and machine with a single-minded purpose? The idea is wildly uncomfortable. “Uh.”

“ _Uh_ ,” Viktor mimics, “is not an answer.”

“I. What?”

What’s his angle? Viktor has to have one, to be acting like a _person_. He can’t be ashamed, can he? Jayce knows that all the nonsense about the Machine Herald removing his emotions is precisely that - nonsense. Neurochemistry isn’t anywhere near prosthetic design, and his outburst at Jayce poking around his house was proof it was all just smoke and mirrors. But _shame_? From _him_ , of all… people?

“You should wear ear protection on the Fields if matches decrease your hearing capacity to this extent.”

That’s more like Viktor. But it’s still too uncomfortably human - Jayce would have expected some quip about augmenting his ears, or…

“Can you _stop_ that?”

“…Stop what?”

This is the longest conversation they’ve had, except for the first time they met. He’s not going to count Viktor monologuing and yelling at him while he was stuck in Zaun. “The… whatever you’re _scheming_. With this _turning yourself in_ shtick. Is it to get there before I do? Tell the story the way _you_ want to?”

Viktor is silent for a few seconds, before a harsh laugh makes its way from his throat. “Who do you think I _am_ , Merriweather - _Swain_?”

“Your leg’s not a bum one,” he replies. Or maybe it was. The man wore a brace, after all, but his gait was sound.

Oh. That wasn’t the right thing to say. He can feel the disapproval radiating off of Viktor. “You’ve resorted to making fun of disability, I see.”

They’re still walking, strides nearly synced up. If it weren’t for the nearly-visible current of hatred between the two, they’d look like old friends catching up. Jayce hates that thought - and he hates how Viktor is _clearly_ misinterpreting his words. “What? _No_! I’m not that sort of-“

“You have a vendetta against an amputee, if we are going to describe individuals by their physical characteristics.”

Oh, he _really_ hates their relationship being described like that. “Yes, but, it’s- it’s not because-“

He’s not an asshole, right? Everyone in Piltover agrees that Viktor is dangerous, just like every other champion in Zaun. And all of Piltover can’t be assholes, right? Surely there’s some amputee somewhere who hates Viktor? _Right_?

Viktor’s laugh cuts through his moral panic. “You look distressed. Re-evaluating your decisions, Defender?”

…Yeah, he’s an asshole. Jayce walked right into that one - like he was some sort of vaudeville performer stepping on a rake for physical comedy. He’s been doing that a lot in regards to Viktor. Maybe even now, with the whole turning-him-in-for-kidnapping thing. Oh, gods, what if this was all part of Viktor’s plan? Like in a chess game, where you sacrifice a small piece to capture your opponent’s king later down the line…

 _Jayce_ is not good at chess. But he knows damn well that most educated Zaunites are - they even have tourneys televised in Vaskervon Coliseum when the League isn’t in session. Clearly Viktor has to have _some_ motive for turning himself in, something Jayce can’t see. But just because he can’t see it doesn’t mean he’s _blind_ to Viktor’s… schemes.

“You know what? Don’t turn yourself in.”

Viktor stops in his tracks. “…Excuse me?”

Jayce wants this over and done with, and that want is obvious in his tone. “ _Don’t_. I won’t either. It can be like you didn’t kidnap me and make me sleep in your awful guest bedroom at all.”

“ _Apologies_ that the mattress wasn’t to your taste. Why are you doing this.”

 _Oh, you know, because you’re an evil genius who is cutting the rope that you want me to hang myself by._ “Call it charity.”

“Because Piltover is so interested in helping the less fortunate.”

“More than you are.”

To his surprise, Viktor makes a noise of affirmation. “Zaun’s social services are lacking. That, at least, is something I can… commend Piltover for _trying_ to implement.”

“No, I meant you. Personally. With your… cultists,” Viktor calls them acolytes, but the terms seem interchangeable considering what Jayce knows of them.

 _That_ makes the cyborg cock his head to the side. “What do you mean?”

“What do _you_ mean, _what do I mean_? You clearly…” wait. He has no actual proof of his accusations - but that’s not going to stop him, because it’s _obvious_. “…pay them or something so you can cut off their limbs.”

“…No?”

“ _No?_ ”

Viktor sighs and leans on his staff. “I see you are as misinformed as everyone else. If we are going to discuss this further, I’d prefer to do it somewhere that _isn’t_ in the middle of a hallway. The library?”

Right. The Institute had a library… Jayce had never found reason to use it. Any papers he might need to reference he could get in Piltover - the Institute’s library dealt much more with magic and history. What would Viktor even want in there? It wasn’t as if he was a _studying college student_. The man had to be in his forties, at least… what with the white streak in his hair.

Oh. They were leaving.

* * *

The library is a massive structure, with a domed ceiling rising high above the shelves. Jayce gawks at the architecture and sheer number of tomes - although he quickly recollects his face into something more neutral whenever Viktor glances back at him. The other man leads him past rows and rows of dark wooden shelving until they finally came to a small reading area. Jayce is pretty certain that he sees the pointed ears of Nasus over one particular shelf. Maybe he frequents the library too.

Viktor clicks on a purple-shaded reading lamp as he sits down, resting his elbows on the table. “The Evolution is entirely voluntary.”

“Who would _voluntarily_ cut off their limbs? Want to become an emotionless machine? Except you.”

He can feel Viktor’s withering gaze, even through his mask’s lenses. “You _do_ realize most amputations aren’t auto-amputation.”

“Well, yes…” he’s not going to say _but_ here, even if he desperately wants to.

“And that Zaun has a high rate of industrial accidents due to a lack of workplace regulation.”

“ _Yeaaaah…_?” He doesn’t like where this is going.

“And that due to our pollution we have an abnormally high rate of birth defects, although most are mild.”

The puzzle Jayce is putting together in his head is one he wishes he couldn’t see. “Uh. Alright.”

“ _Surely_ a city like that couldn’t _possibly_ have a high rate of amputation or disfigurement.”

Great! More sarcasm! “Look, there’s- there has to be other protheticists. There’s some in Piltover!” There are, right? Surely. He wouldn’t know, but there _has to be_.

“Yes, and they overcharge and under-deliver. Or can do nothing more than give someone a glass eye.”

“So… you’re saying that you’re just filling a niche. With your cult.”

“It’s not a cult,” Viktor replies with a long-suffering sigh. “I’ve helped several people who have no interest in the Glorious Evolution, or with me as anything more than a repairman for their prostheses. It just _happens_ that many people are… thankful when you restore something they lost. I don’t _tithe_ or make _demands_.”

“…But you had your cu- acolytes jump me,” Jayce counters, hand going to the scab on the side of his head. No one’s commented on it, fortunately, as it blends in well enough.

Another sigh. “That was their decision. They thought I would-“

“ _Would_?” Viktor, cutting himself off? It was clearly something he didn’t want to tell Jayce about, and that made it _interesting_.

“It’s not important.”

“I have a scab that hurts every time I try to shampoo. Seems pretty important to me.”

“ _Apologies_ for the disruption in your shower routine. Now, as I was say-“

“No, tell me. _What did they think you’d do_?” He was done joking to try and get the information that way.

Viktor’s body language screams of social awkwardness. How hadn’t Jayce noticed how expressive the cyborg was before? For someone _convinced_ he was above all negative emotions, the man practically wore his (artificial?) heart on his sleeve. It was almost funny.

“Kill you.”

“Uh,” that wasn’t what he was expecting. But it makes a horrible sort of sense. “But.”

“I’m not a murderer.”

“The Fields beg to differ.”

“Then your body count is far higher than mine. You’re much more popular, after all.”

Okay. Fine. Maybe using their tenures as champions as a way to prove Viktor was a killer was a mistake. It’s not like that death _stays_ , after all… although it certainly does hurt. “Yeah. But. _Murdering me_?”

Viktor’s voice is cold. “Considering what you did to them, it’s perfectly reasonable.”

“Look, I know I had to get through a few t-“

“ _Get through a few_. Is _that_ what Piltover calls _crushing someone’s arm_?”

That’s the same anger from Viktor’s house, from when Jayce had wandered into the wrong room and had half a mind that he’d die. It’s burning and made even more unsettling by the cold, alien gaze of his mask.

“It- I didn’t know-“ he wants to explain, to tell Viktor that he _hadn’t known_ , that he wasn’t a monster, that he’d thought his acolytes were nothing more than mindless drones that Viktor had somehow converted to his cause… but the man is on a warpath and he can hardly get a word in.

“ _You didn’t_. Perhaps I shall enlighten you, then?” and he sounds cruel, now, and in a fervor that Jayce has _never_ heard from him before, “I’m certain _you_ had your wounds to treat, but I am _just as certain_ that you were not treating others.”

“But-“

The cyborg’s third arm swivels towards Jayce, menace in its movements. “ _I was_. Some I could set, some I could bandage, but a _few were particularly_ … _unlucky_ , as _you_ might put it. Your Hammer is _very_ good at shattering bones, as I’m sure you’re well aware. It must be some sort of resonance. So I _worked_. I stabilized _everyone_ and amputated when I _had_ to - not when I _wanted_ to, as I’m sure you’re thinking. Losing one limb is _traumatic enough_ , and losing another to the actions of a self-titled hero on a quest for _vengeance_ spurred by his _inability to listen_ is even more so. So you can see why some of my acolytes would rather you be _dead_ than potentially cause more harm.”

Jayce is silent for a long, long time. “…I’m going to leave now.”

Viktor, to his credit, watches him go without another word.


	4. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jayce's moral crises continue. Finding someone to give him decent advice about the situation is harder than he expects.

Jayce is silent as he exits the Institute by way of the portal to Piltover. He’s silent as he rides the light metro to his stop, only nodding vaguely when someone compliments his practice match today. He’s silent as he walks to his home. It’s only when his front door is shut and locked behind him that the emotional weight on his shoulders finally causes him to slump forwards.

A week ago - _hells_ , even a few hours ago - he would have written off Viktor’s rant as something designed to manipulate. Just another way for him to preach his cause and cast those in the way of his “progress” in a negative light. He still wants to. It would be so much easier if he could just let the _rage_ he’d seen slide off his memory like water off of a duck… but he can’t. Something in there was genuine, and _that’s_ making him reconsider a lot of things.

Maybe a shower would help. He smells of dirt and sweat and charring (for some reason, the atmosphere of the Fields sticks with champions even if their deaths don’t) and just wants to lean against something and think. He has a lot to think about.

He hangs up his coat and stows away the Mercury Cannon. _Could Viktor be telling the truth?_

He shuffles to the bathroom and flicks on the fan. _Could his acolytes be there of their own wills?_

He turns on the shower and begins to undress. _Could they really hate me that much?_

He steps into the stall as the room begins to steam up. _Could_ I _be the one in the wrong?_

The last question hits him like a sack of bricks, and he finds himself bracing against the shower wall as if he’d _actually_ been struck. The scab on his head twinges in pain - or maybe it’s just a headache coming on. He couldn’t be the _Bad Guy_ , right? He’s the Defender, the Hero. People cheered him on after he’d first gone to Zaun! Sure, the government had first condemned his actions as those of a vigilante… but once he’d joined the League, he’d been lauded instead! Even Elizabeth Ferros, the mayor, had pulled him aside to say that she had appreciated what he’d done, although she had had to publicly disagree with his actions at first. He couldn’t be in the wrong. All of Piltover would have to be, then.

…What if they were? Did that make what Viktor was doing - his self-surgeries, his idea of a future only fit for machines - _right_? It couldn’t. He wanted to cut away from humans their very humanity: their emotions, desires, passions. It didn’t matter if he said that the Evolution was optional _now_ … it wouldn’t be in the future, once he’d gotten more power and more technology. _That_ was why Jayce had gone to Zaun and fought him. Not for revenge. Not for the present. For the future.

 _But you hurt people in Zaun,_ a voice in the back of his mind says. _You_ knew _what you were doing when you batted them aside. You saw more than just metal._

Maybe he had! But it was for their own good, wasn’t it? So they wouldn’t be forced to become full converts to Viktor’s vision?

 _You made at least one of them lose a limb_ , the voice continues, and he shuts his eyes as if that would help free himself from his conscience - or whatever part of his mind this is coming from, _so much for preventing their robotization_.

He wishes he could argue against that. Argue against the part of him that’s well-aware that _he had fucked up_. That he hadn’t listened well enough. That he had assumed. That he had been so _content_ with being seen as a hero that he’d never stopped to consider if he truly was, or if he _was just a man grappling against something he didn’t understand_.

But he can’t, can he? So what _can_ he do? He was a solutions-focused man. Fight the bad guy. Save the city. Simple plans that were all out of alignment now… all due to Viktor having something that sounded an awful lot like a heart. He didn’t have an answer for this. Maybe someone else did.

That was a problem for tomorrow, though. Right now he needed to drag himself through the motions of showering, make dinner, and go to sleep. That was a plan. That was something simple that he could do.

Right. Just to do it, then.

* * *

The sun rises _far_ too early for Jayce’s liking. It doesn’t help that he’d forgotten to close the blinds on his east-facing window… but he’s up now, and there’s no use in trying to go back to sleep and delay the day. Right. Now he has to figure out who he’s going to ask for advice about the whole situation. He runs through a mental list as he shaves away his stubble in front the bathroom mirror. Who in Piltover can he ask?

His thoughts immediately turn to his friends - both from his former lab and those he’s had longer, but… truthfully, they’d probably just agree with whatever he said. It wasn’t that they didn’t have their own thoughts or ideas, just that he knew that they thought similarly to him. That’s what friendships were built on, after all. Mutual agreements, whether it be over sports teams or personal ideology. His parents would be much the same, with the addition of worrying endlessly for him. So… what about other champions?

Heimerdinger? No. His head is too far in the clouds… or, at the very least, swaddled by his hairdo.

Ziggs? Unless he wants to be informed about the best way to blow his problems up, no.

Ezreal? The boy’s hardly in his twenties and spends his time pretending he’s not infatuated with Lux. (Nevermind that Jayce is _still_ in his twenties, albeit in the latter half by a few years. He can pass judgment, surely.)

Orianna? _No_.

Vi? He wouldn’t hear the end of it.

Caitlyn. Oh. He _really_ doesn’t want to talk about this to Caitlyn. But she’s really his only choice out of anyone in this city-state. She knows more of the situation than anyone else, and he can count on her to be logical to a fault. If anyone could dissuade him from his realization and let him sink back into the nice, comfortable norm… it’d be her.

She’s also the most likely to make him plunge head-first into the predicament he’s found himself in, which is an alternative he doesn’t want to think about.

Jayce makes himself a small breakfast and brews himself a cup of coffee before he leaves for the day. It’s spring in Piltover, the season gifting flowers and blossoms to the leafy boulevards of the city. It’s nice to get out in his civilian clothes - he likes to think that they make him less recognizable, clad as he is in a polo shirt and dress pants, but it’s more of a placebo than anything. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to being a celebrity. It’s a nice feeling to be recognized and cheered for, but the constant visibility gets to him…

Caitlyn’s probably at her office in the city center, unless she’s already out tracking down a criminal. Maybe it would be C - then he’d have an excuse not to talk to her. She was always so _focused_ whenever the thief made an appearance, her attention refined to the mental equivalent of a perfectly-calibrated scope. Even Vi knew well enough to leave her alone then, or risk getting dressed-down for an interruption.

Jayce hopes some expensive device has been stolen, and he hopes that a color-coded calling card has been left in its place. It would be easier for him and Caitlyn both.

* * *

For the fortune of Piltover - and the personal misfortune of Jayce - there is no crime. Caitlyn is in her office in the precinct as she is most days, with Piltover’s crime yet again at a record low. Jinx’s pyrotechnic habits have been contained by her very recent induction into the Institute - the woman hardly seems to know the difference between her delusions and reality, much less explosions on the Fields or in Piltover.

Jayce knocks awkwardly on the open doorframe, causing Caitlyn to pause before she takes her first sip of a fresh cup of tea. “Hey, Cait.”

“Good morning, Jayce,” she replies, lifting her eyes to his. “Another kidnapping to report?”

“I- oh, do I look that bad…?”

She snorts gently, shaking her head before going in for her first sip of tea. “Forgive me - I just have to find my humor where I can. What can I help you with?”

“…How did you know I came here for help?”

“You rarely stop by to just chat. _And_ you’re looking quite worried. What’s on your mind? Take a seat.”

Jayce does as such, sitting in the chair with the air of a schoolboy about to get in trouble. It’s not that Caitlyn is _intimidating_ , per se, although she certainly is to her quarry… but that he’s going to ask her something that she might react poorly to. Maybe he can couch it in a way that she won’t know what he’s talking about. Good luck with that.

“So… hypothetically,” he starts, and immediately regrets it. “If someone were to have done something wrong, you’d tell them, right?”

He catches just a _hint_ of an eye-roll before Caitlyn decides to play along. “If that hypothetical person were my colleague, yes.”

“So. Hypothetically, with your hypothetical colleague,” he is _well-aware_ of how utterly ridiculous he sounds, but this farce is somehow less embarrassing than telling the straight truth, “if they had… maybe misjudged someone, you’d tell them. Right?”

Caitlyn nods, looking rather bored. “Is this about V-“

“Viktor?! Yes! Uh. How did you know.”

The Sheriff doesn’t jump out of her seat or do any other over-the-top expression of shock, but her eyes widen as she slowly sets her teacup back onto its saucer. “…I was going to say Vi. We’re talking about the Viktor in the _League_ , yes? The _cyborg_?”

Oh! Fantastic! Jayce had truly outdone himself _this_ time! He’s been making a fool of himself for what feels like the entirety of the previous week, and now this… He looks towards Caitlyn, sheepish. “…Yeah. That Viktor.”

“The one who kidnapped you.”

“Look, it’s… complicated. I told you about his lab, right?”

“I think everyone in Piltover knows that you destroyed it. That’s why you’re a _Champion_ , remember?”

“I… there were other people there. Some followers of his. They tried to stop me, and,” Jayce pauses, looking at the edge of Caitlyn’s desk rather than her eyes, “I. I thought they were brainwashed or something, I don’t know. So I… wasn’t careful.”

He doesn’t lift his gaze back to Caitlyn, but he can feel her confusion… and her shock. It’s well-earned, isn’t it? He’d done something _wrong_ and people - perhaps they weren’t fully innocents, but they weren’t _machines_ \- had gotten hurt.

“…What did you do, Jayce?”

“I. I don’t know. Viktor said that a lot were injured, at least one lost a limb… I _swear_ , Cait, it wasn’t- I didn’t mean to, I’d just made the Hammer and I didn’t _know_ that it had that much power,” as soon as he says it, he knows it’s a lie. He’s got six years of engineering schooling, after all, and that means he should know _damn well_ about the specifications of anything he makes, “-no, I… I did. I just thought it was necessary and I didn’t think of them as…”

Caitlyn waits a few moments after he’d trailed off before speaking. “Viktor could be lying.”

“I know! I know, and I _hope_ he is, but he was _angry_. More than when I saw his parents’ room, or whatever that was, and more than when we fought and… I think he _cares_ about them. His followers. Acolytes. More than he cared about all the work I delayed.”

He looks up at Caitlyn, shoulders still hunched. The realization he’d just had is still rippling through him - that Viktor _cares_ about something other than the Glorious Evolution, and that of all the things for him to care about it’s _people_. It explains the cyborg’s anger far too well, but gives Jayce more questions than answers. _Why_? Why would a man who wants to become a machine care about other people? Why would he be angry on their behalf when his entire _thing_ is about removing emotional weaknesses? Why had it taken a _kidnapping_ for Jayce to realize all of this?

“…Cait, please. Just… tell me I’m wrong and that he’s nothing more than a crazy Zaunite bent on world domination. Or that he can’t have emotions, that he _did_ somehow get rid of them and I just… somehow misunderstood. Please.”

Caitlyn looks at him with something close to pity. “I don’t think I can do that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I'm possessed in regards to writing this fic. Update today because I have a few more chapters in the metaphorical chamber.  
> Uh, Team "Give Jayce a personality beyond being a stock hero or stock asshole depending on what lore you subscribe to"?


	5. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Caitlyn offers some advice. Jayce plans his attempt at an apology.

The Sheriff’s voice is soft as she continues. Jayce isn’t used to her playing the role of a compassionate friend, and it takes time for the dissonance to fade. “You have a strong sense of justice, Jayce. You’re not someone who easily confuses right from wrong… for me to tell you, based off of the information I know, that you are wrong would be a lie. Neither of us have all of the relevant information, of course. But _you_ know more than I, and even if I cannot _possibly_ imagine that man being anything but the archetypal Zaunite scientist, I trust your thoughts and intuition.”

Going to Caitlyn had been a mistake. But he’d known it most likely would be. “I’m not you, though. I didn’t become a vigilante at fourteen and the head of the police force at twenty-five. I’m not… I’m just a guy with a master’s degree, like most scientists in Piltover,” it’s not a lack of self-confidence or pride that’s speaking - it’s just that comparing anyone to Caitlyn Eckhart had them come up short. It’s hard to top “nearly eradicating crime in a bustling city-state by your mid-twenties”, after all.

“You also made an entirely new invention to go take back Piltover’s property when I couldn’t interfere. Not the smartest move for a lab rat,” she quirks her eyebrow, a hint of humor in her voice, “but certainly one influenced by your own morality.”

“And I probably hurt more than I helped. I get to be the hero off the backs of…” he sits in silence, expression sour.

“We all make mistakes. You think my early days were flawless? There’s still a bullet hole in my parents’ dining room wall, from when I didn’t check that my rifle was unloaded before cleaning it. We could have had it fixed, of course, but my father believed that it would be an effective reminder to always check things twice. It is.”

The mental image of a teenaged Caitlyn nearly blowing off her arm with her own gun makes Jayce pale. “That’s different.”

“Maybe so. But what’s done is done. Your bullet hole will remain. You may as well learn from it,” she says with a small shrug, lifting her nearly-empty cup to her lips. “If you truly believe you did the wrong thing, you achieve nothing by hating yourself for it.”

“So… what? I apologize? I try to make it right? I listen to him?”

Caitlyn shrugs again - it’s obvious that she’s not going to lead him to any answers. “Those all seem like reasonable ideas. Perhaps not the listening, though. You’ve done more of that than anyone else I know of.”

“Right. I don’t think he’d ever convince me that he’s right, though.”

“You stick to your guns in regards to your morals. If you ever changed your stance on his _Glorious Evolution_ , I would assume that something quite traumatic had happened to your brain. How _is_ your injury?”

He really shouldn’t be surprised at Caitlyn seemingly knowing everything. She has keen eyes and a mind as sharp as a knife. “…It’s healing up. Uh… thank you for the advice.”

“I didn’t tell you anything you didn’t already know. But… it _is_ sometimes nice to have someone else hear your thoughts. You’d best get to it, then.”

Jayce gets to his feet, fiddling with the cuff of his glove. “Yeah, I guess so.”

“Oh, Jayce?” Caitlyn asks as he turns to leave. “If you _do_ choose to help him… don’t tell me about it. Can’t have it come out that Piltover’s Hero is trying to make it right with a Zaunite, _especially_ that one.”

“I’ll do my best,” he says tentatively, exiting her office and closing the door.

* * *

His walk back home feels lighter than his journey to the precinct did. Colors seem just a bit brighter, and Jayce takes his time to stroll along the streets as he looks about at the scenery… and think about what he’s going to do next. How _does_ one apologize to a cyborg and his small-yet-loyal army of followers? It’s not as if all would magically be forgiven if he showed up in Zaun with a cake that had “Sorry about potentially breaking and/or causing your limbs to have to be amputated!” written on it. Probably the opposite, in fact. So… what to do to? What to give to or do for a man with such a single-minded focus as Viktor? How was Jayce supposed to show that he was truly apologetic? He thinks back to the library, to Viktor’s outburst… the _library_.

 _Papers_. That’s the answer. Piltover and Zaun _did not_ collaborate, so there would be a wealth of research that the man had never seen - unless he had someone in Piltover’s academia working for him, of course. But that seems unlikely. Viktor’s not the type for cloak-and-dagger sorts of affairs.

Jayce turns on his heel and heads towards his alma mater.

The Piltovian University of the Sciences stretches out before him, gleaming buildings sparkling in the afternoon sun. It’s weird to be back on campus - Jayce has to stop himself from reaching to adjust a non-existent backpack. He’s not stopped by after he graduated with his Master’s, since any articles he could need he could have requested through his lab. Now that he’s on his own, however, he’s got to go straight to the source. A few students are lounging about on the green, studying or talking or taking a nap in the springtime air. It brings a smile to his face to remember doing the exact same.

His thoughts turn to Zaun and _their_ counterpart to the University. With the air quality there, do students spend time out in the smog-shrouded sun? What does the campus even look like…? Was Viktor a graduate from there, or was he some sort of self-taught mad scientist?

Jayce’s legs had seemingly directed him to the library without any conscious thought. The building is a thing of glass and light-colored steel, windows taking the place of walls. It looks quiet enough inside - the quarter is just starting, after all, and no one is feeling the pressure to study just yet. Of course, that’ll all change by midterms… but for now, everyone is free to enjoy the early days of spring. He remembers doing much the same.

* * *

The woman manning the library’s front desk looks up as he approaches - her expression changing from mild interest to overwhelming curiosity in an instant. “Oh! You’re J- ah, er, how may I help you?”

Jayce smiles good-naturedly at her recognition. In this case, his heroic persona might help him… “Yeah, the one and only! I was wondering if I could check out a few journals.”

“Of course! We allow all our graduates to use our collection - the cap for simultaneous check-outs is increased to five. We’ve been moving to microfiche for some in-library use and for archiving older media, but everything new should still be in print.”

Five. That’s not nearly enough for an apology. One issue might only have one or two articles of interest, and… Jayce bites his lip in thought. “There’s no way I could check out a few more, right? I’ll get them back in under two weeks, I promise,” he feels like a student again, sitting in this library and copying down information and quotes for his studies.

“ _Well_ …” the librarian says softly, looking around as if worried someone will overhear, “I might be able to let you have ten. ‘Cause of everything you’ve done for Piltover. We have the ability to override the checkout limit for special circumstances.”

Oh. He hadn’t expected that. It feels _wrong_ to get this special treatment for no other reason than being himself, but… ten would go a long way to help to apologize. _But_ … he’s using his position as a Champion of Piltover to give knowledge to a Zaunite. The whole situation feels like a funhouse mirror. He can’t stand silent for too long.

“I… yeah. If you can, that would be great.”

“Of course! Head on upstairs and I’ll check you out when you’ve found what you need,” she says with a nod, beaming.

Jayce nods back, says a quick thanks, and heads up the polished stone steps. If memory serves, he’ll find the area that houses all the journals in one of the corners of the building, tucked away from the hustle and bustle of the center. Academic literature is dense, after all, and so requires concentration to parse.

The section is deserted - with the quarter just beginning, no one’s been assigned any research projects that require journals. That’s good… he doesn’t really want to have to be the Hero right now. He’s just Jayce, looking for papers for his enemy-turned-weird-acquaintance. ( _Are_ they acquaintances? Considering the last time he saw Viktor, the man had been full of seething rage… maybe not.) What should he look for?

Articles on prostheses, of course. He knows that Viktor claims that his are the most advanced on Valoran, but Jayce has _no idea_ how they actually function. Maybe they’re just modifications on a current method. It takes some searching, but there’s a series of the _Piltovian Journal of Orthotics and Prosthetics_ tucked away in a corner shelf. Jayce sits down on the carpet and pulls out an issue, marveling for a moment at the fact that it looks brand new. But he’s got reading to do, and so he begins.

By the time Jayce finishes one issue of the journal, his head is swimming. This stuff is clearly outside of his knowledge base, and while he can understand the general concepts… gods, he’s happy he’s just a mechanical engineer. Biomedical engineers have to deal with the body _and_ technology, and he’s not sure if he’d be up for that task. His reading has given him something approaching a begrudging respect for Viktor - and even more questions about how the man even _functions_. He’s perfectly able to move on the Fields, which is _not_ true for any of the case studies Jayce just read about. Anything above the knee means limited ankle movement, but considering how the man is able to turn on a dime and run through the jungle of Summoner’s Rift… what sort of technology is _in_ those prostheses? And the damn _third arm_? How did that even work? Was there some sort of sensor in his mask that read his thoughts and moved it accordingly? It was obviously removable… how did it attach? Was it just on his pauldron, or did it attach to his body somehow?

Reading those articles was easier than all of these thoughts. Jayce sets the first issue aside and picks up the second, vowing to skim the articles rather than fully read them this time.

He goes through the full catalogue of the _PJOP_ in another hour, setting aside five issues to check out. The titles and abstracts of a few articles in each seem of use. That leaves another five journals to find. He stands up, back cracking at the change, and carefully puts away the journals he didn’t find of enough importance to check out. What else could Viktor want? Jayce considers looking for journals of medicine - maybe surgery - but decides that Viktor _must_ have some training there in order to not have killed himself by now. Surely no untrained individual would perform surgery on themselves. So that leaves… robotics, maybe. That’s a field near prosthetics, if he squinted… and might have some use for Viktor’s whole “putting his consciousness into a machine” thing. Jayce _really_ doesn’t like the idea of aiding Viktor in _that_ quest, but he rationalizes his discomfort by choosing to believe that Viktor would probably find out this information either way.

Robotics is a _much_ wider field than prosthetics, so he pulls a few promising-looking journals from the shelves and gets to work reading. A lot of what he finds is about industrial robots - great, heavy things designed to automate tasks like loading freight ships, and these articles he skims over. There’s an article or two on _Orianna_ , of all things, written by her creator/father Corin Reveck. They’re tinged in emotion and something that reads as desperation for her to be accepted, but there’s decent information in there on _some_ of her inner workings. Nothing vital, but enough to get an idea of what makes her (literally and figuratively) tick. Jayce isn’t sure how they passed the peer-review process with that writing style. Maybe some academic had taken pity on Reveck.

He continues on in his reading, finding that a few Zaunite-published journals have made it into the library. He reads these with great interest, curious to see how those across the Bay write. It’s very similar in style, but with _significantly_ less additions about where funding came from… or sign-offs from ethics committees. One article by a Stanwick Pididly, PhD. catches his eye. It’s on the Great Steam Golem of Zaun, the world’s very first (and for now, only) sentient robot - Blitzcrank. Jayce has seen the robot many times on the Fields, and is far-too-familiar with his right-handed grab. He grimaces at the memories, but reads on. Maybe he can find something of use here, like what precisely turned what was _supposed_ to be a waste-disposal robot into a sentient being. Maybe it was something in the way his “brain” was constructed? He doubts that Viktor hasn’t already looked into Blitzcrank - maybe even asked to run some tests on the robot - but Jayce doesn’t mind preparing for unlikely possibilities.

The article is frustratingly vague about the making of Blitzcrank’s AI, preferring instead to talk up his construction and Pididly’s achievements. Maybe the man doesn’t want anyone to copy his work. Considering Zaun, that’s a perfectly reasonable concern… Jayce adds the journal to his pile anyways, hoping that maybe Viktor could find it interesting if not informative. He checks through a few more journals, finds a few more promising articles, and realizes with a start that he has ten… and that it’s been three hours. Hopefully there hasn’t been a shift change since he started his quest. Asking yet another person to bend the rules for him is too much.

He ventures down the stairs, finding that the same woman is still at the front desk, and checks out the journals with a bit of smalltalk. Watching his name and the due dates being written in the checkout-cards in each journal makes him nervous - even though he’s well-aware that this is simply an analog backup for the library’s digital system of checkouts and tracking. It makes what he’s doing feel even more visible. _Jayce Merriweather_ stands out like a sore thumb amidst the student ID numbers… but Jayce still takes the journals, hugging them to his chest with one arm, and bids the library assistant a good afternoon.

The walk back home feels longer than ever.


	6. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jayce goes to Zaun, again. Hopefully this time it will go better.

Jayce spends his evening pouring over the journals he chose between bites of homemade chicken polenta. Maybe reading loaned-out works of academia at the kitchen table is a mistake, but it gives his mind something to do as he eats - and has the added benefit of stretching out the time before he needs to wash the various pots and pans he used. A couple articles are _definitely_ not conducive to a good meal, considering the nature of the _PJOP_. The included pictures are clinical, yes, but still quite unsettling. He flips past them as quickly as he can. The robotics journals are easier on the stomach and the mind, as he finds the content understandable with his knowledge. Robots were a mild interest of his in college, due to automation in Piltover picking up, but he never did much with it other than take a few elective classes. They’re coming in handy now.

 _Say thank you to previous Jayce, Jayce_ , he thinks, and snorts to himself. He’s nothing if not easily amused at his own brand of humor.

Eventually he can’t procrastinate on the dishes anymore - even under the guise of “letting them soak” - and so he closes the issue of _Robotics in Piltover_ he was looking at and shuffles to the kitchen sink. At least he made enough for a few nights of leftovers, because if he had to clean up this much every night… he might as well try to build a robot to wash dishes for him. (Or he’s just been influenced by what he’s been reading.) He mulls over what he’s learned as he starts to scrub at a pan. There’s at least a small business for prostheses in Piltover, with several doctors that frequently publish their work and ideas. It’s odd that he had hardly considered that field until this current fiasco… maybe he can do something to bring awareness or funding to it. Not to try to hasten scientific progress to “beat” Viktor, or to try to make it right with him, but just… because it seems like a good thing to do. Clearly very few people at the university are going into prosthetics, since his name is the only one in most of the _PJOP_ checkout-cards. An optimistic part of him hopes that it’s simply because these are newer reprints of well-used journals, but there’s a point where optimism becomes stupidity.

As for robotics, Blitzcrank seems much less like a hissing steam-machine that pulls him through the brambles of Summoner’s Rift and more like a person. The robot had been granted _personhood_ in Zaun, after all, and while they were rather lax about their legal proceedings… that was still quite an achievement. Blitzcrank seems to be a trailblazer in more ways than one, even if Jayce personally finds him a bit off-putting due to past experience.

Oh! Through the wonders of deep thought, he’d managed to get through his dishes while hardly noticing. Perhaps he should read academic literature at dinner more often, then…

* * *

Getting through the rest of his nightly routine is quick enough. Jayce showers, checks to make sure all the lights are off in the rest of his house, and heads to bed. Getting to sleep, however, is another story. His mind seems dead-set on replaying the events of today intermixed with his future plans. Is he going to board a ferry to Zaun tomorrow, journals tucked into a satchel? Is he going to hand them off to Viktor with only the request that the man returns them? What if he doesn’t and the University comes to ask where their copies went? He’s pretty certain “I gave them to a Zaunite Champion” would go over poorly, and admitting to giving them to Viktor even more so. Could he get in legal trouble? Was this even a good idea? Jayce presses his face into a pillow as if that will magically solve _yet another_ internal crisis. It doesn’t.

Well. If he doesn’t offer the metaphorical peace treaty to Viktor, who knows what will happen. If his acolytes are as half as persistent as he is, Jayce is pretty sure he’ll end up with yet another head trauma… or something worse. Potential kidnapping or potential legal action? There was also the matter of the _right_ thing to do, which he was rapidly finding out didn’t always line up with the _legal_ thing to do. Caitlyn seemed to know it, which was a fact he’d been pointedly ignoring until now. Someone who symbolized law and order as much as _she_ did had told him to lie to her if he talked to Viktor. Did that mean she approved of his choice, or just that she was looking the other way due to his Championship? (Or perhaps even their friendship, if he could call it that. They didn’t _hang out_ or do anything he did with his college friends, but calling her an acquaintance felt far too distant. He guessed they were coworkers, technically, but even that felt wrong.)

Things had been much simpler when he’d been convinced that the law was usually right. Now it seemed that the law twisted and turned and only sometimes intersected with doing the right thing. Was it right to try and fix his wrongs in regards to Viktor? Would giving him knowledge be a good enough substitute for healing what he had broken? No amount of learning would heal a broken bone or reattach a removed limb, but… Jayce had to try. He had to show through Viktor that he had learned, because he certainly couldn’t directly apologize to his acolytes. He had no idea of their names, locations, or… gods, they had to have jobs. Friends, maybe even families. The realization is one he’d had earlier, but it doesn’t get any less odd. They were fully-fledged people he knew nothing about! Except for how he’d wronged them!

Eventually he manages to quiet his racing brain with the knowledge that he _will_ go to Zaun tomorrow. He _will_ give the journals to Viktor, and he _will_ try to explain that it is to apologize for all he’s done. Maybe he’ll even ask if there’s anything he could do - something low-key that wouldn’t send the media after him. If his image as the Defender of Tomorrow were to crack and tarnish, he’s… not sure what would happen. So it has to be quiet and secret - but he can at least ask.

He falls asleep soon after that train of thought, determination having replaced panic.

* * *

The next morning is mildly overcast, and it takes several false starts for Jayce to get out of bed and prepare for the day. He gets dressed, makes some toast to settle his stomach, grabs a light jacket, and heads out into the cool morning air. The journals are in a bag slung over his shoulder.

He feels like an outlaw as he makes his way to the docks. Except this isn’t the fun sort of outlaw, like if he were a child playing cops and robbers, but the actual sort that might end with him in jail. He clutches the strap of his satchel tighter as he pays for a round-trip ticket to Zaun. The ferry is relatively empty today and Jayce finds a seat at the corner of the vessel, where he can stare out the window at the grey-blue waves. The view isn’t great today, but the repetitive nature of the Bay's waves usually takes his mind off of things. Things like how Viktor might very well kill him rather than speak to him. Or that this is definitely a crime. Or that he really, really does not like the idea of giving this knowledge to Viktor due to the ends it might lead to. Is he helping the man? Or just speeding up the inevitable?

Huh. The waves sure didn’t help.

* * *

Zaun doesn’t help much either. The overcast skies in Piltover translate into pure gloom in its rival city-state, with smog pressing down as if it had a physical weight. Jayce isn’t enjoying the idea of walking to Viktor’s house - it was much further into Zaun than his laboratory had been, and he’s rather jumpy about alleyways now - so he purchases a railway ticket from a kiosk for what he’s pretty sure is a markup due to him having only Piltovian currency and climbs the metal stairs to the station. It takes a good deal of squinting and considering the grimy plastic-covered map display to figure out what stop he has to get off at, but he still has plenty of time to stand awkwardly and wait. Does he stick out like a sore thumb in Zaun? He can’t tell any specific conversation from the din of the crowd around him, but what if they’re talking about him? Do they recognize him?

He’s dragged out of overthinking by the train arriving with a screech of brakes and metal. There’s graffiti on the car that stops in front of him, some blocky phrase in what he’s pretty sure in Zaunite. Has there ever been graffiti on the light metro back in Piltover…? Besides when Jinx had shown up and splashed hot-pink paint across anything that she could. He doesn’t think so.

The inside of the car isn’t much better. Jayce takes a seat on a hard plastic bench and looks up at the advertisements. Most are in Common, advertising various businesses… or so he thinks. It’s hard to make out what they’re for, since it looks as if a lot of them have been ripped down by various Zaunites. He has no idea why someone would do that, or if there’s any reason to it at all. Maybe they just do it because they can.

Why do so many people choose to live here? Jayce holds his satchel on his lap, shoulders stiff and legs pressed together. He doesn’t take up space on Piltovian transport out of politeness, but here it’s more out of fear. Considering that his last two ventures into Zaun had ended with him leaving metaphorically licking his wounds, he’s pretty sure he has a right to. Maybe focusing on the scenery - or lack thereof - would help.

Brick building. Concrete building. Brick building. Brick building. Steel building. Even as the train hurtles past a residential area in the distance, with actual houses instead of tall apartment blocks, it’s still brick. He hasn’t seen any wood in Zaun. Does the atmosphere rot it away? Do they genuinely prefer concrete and brick and steel over it? Or perhaps lumber is a difficult import… It’s not as if there are any forests near the city-state. There never has been as long as Jayce has been alive.

He comes out of his thoughts to the sound of the doors hissing open. A female voice, first in Zaunite and then in Common, announces the stop’s name - it’s the one he has to change lines at. Jayce gets to his feet carefully, glancing around one last time at the rest of the car, and leaves.

The process continues on the next line. Sit down. Stare out the window. Have a mild panic. Hear the stop he needs and get off the train. Jayce is as close to Viktor’s home as Zaun’s public transport allows, and so he sets out on a walk through less-crowded streets. He’d not taken the time previously to truly _observe_ the area (except for how to leave as quickly as possible), but a few interesting things are coming to light now. If he had to guess, he’d type this area as firmly upper-middle-class - or at least the Zaunite version of it. If Viktor’s house is inherited (or stolen or taken or…) from his parents, that means that they must have had jobs that paid relatively well. Businesspeople? Scientists?

It’s profoundly _bizarre_ to consider the fact that Viktor has parents, even though he’s seen physical proof of it in that photograph. The man seems like he was spawned into being by the technology he promotes. But he, just like Jayce, has to have had a childhood. Has he _always_ been a zealot about removing humanity’s flaws? The mental image of a grade-schooler standing on a step-stool, shouting about emotions, comes to mind. It would be funny if the boy had a face in Jayce’s imagination. Instead, his head is as indistinct as a barely-started oil painting.

The house in front of him is Viktor’s, although it looks just as average as any other. Jayce steps up to the doorway, raises his fist, and knocks.


	7. Chapter Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Viktor is mediocre, at best, when it comes to receiving houseguests.

There’s blurred movement behind the frosted glass that flanks the front door, then a pause. Viktor must be trying to puzzle out who his visitor is. Jayce crosses his fingers as if the motion will actually bring him luck. The door opens after the sound of several locks clicking.

“…Merriweather.”

 _That_ is not what he expected Viktor to look like. The man is still wearing his customary mask, but instead of his odd armor and what Jayce is _pretty_ sure is an undersuit, he’s wearing… a turtleneck and slacks. He looks like the Zaunite equivalent of a hopelessly-out-of-date professor. The third arm is still visible over his shoulder - Jayce’s idle speculation about it being attached to the man must be right. The thought makes him shiver.

“Viktor. I-I’ve,” and _now_ is not the time for him to freeze up, so he shoves the satchel at the other man, “Journals.”

Viktor cocks his head. “You’re… giving me diaries.”

“No! No, it’s academic - from our University of the Sciences,” he feels better now, talking about technology, and so he continues, “There’s five issues of the, ah, _Piltovian Journal of Orthotics and Prosthetics_ , then a few on robotics… It’s…”

“What are you doing.”

“I’m… trying to apologize, I guess. Look. Just. Just take them, and get them back to me in two weeks or the university library is going to hunt me down and then if they find out I gave them to you Cait’s gonna throw me in a jail cell overnight and-“

“You are behaving _incredibly_ irrationally. Get off of my front step.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll... I’ll go n-“

“I meant for you to come _in_ , Merriweather,” Viktor says with a sigh - and Jayce notices that he’s propped the door open with a metal foot. “You are clearly trying to do something, and standing out here ranting into the air about it helps no one.”

Jayce looks about nervously, as if there’s hidden cameras that are recording this exchange, but eventually steps inside.

* * *

The lights are off in the front hallway as Viktor closes the door behind Jayce.

“From your alma mater?”

“I… yeah. Wait - how did you-“

The cyborg glances at him, and Jayce is pretty sure that he can _feel_ the disdain from behind Viktor’s mask. “Your information is very public.”

Well. That makes sense. “…And yours isn’t,” he replies with a sigh. “Is there… somewhere to sit down? Since you clearly want me here.”

“Want is a strong word. Follow me.”

Viktor turns and walks away, towards what Jayce vaguely remembers as the kitchen. He follows, pleasantly surprised when it turns out that his memory is solid - this _is_ the kitchen, with its four-chaired table. He’d only caught a glimpse of it before getting kicked out last time. There’s only one placemat on the table, he notes, and the rest of it is covered in books and papers.

“You don’t have guests often, huh?” he quips, nodding to the clutter.

“You have little reason to care.”

Gods, _alright_. So much for humor. “So. The journals.”

“You still have them. Put them on the table.”

Jayce does so, only holding onto the earliest issue of the _PJOP_. He holds it out to Viktor as if the man is radioactive. “So, uh, this one’s got a few interesting articles… I bookmarked them! There’s one on a-“

Viktor takes the journal without a word, already opening it up to the first marked article. Then the second. Then the third. The man either has incredible reading comprehension, or…

“…Nothing in here is useful to me.”

“Not even the paper on that nerve-impulse prototype? I mean, it’s years out, but it looks game changing…”

“Oh. No, that method won’t work. I tried something similar for my first prototype.”

“Oh, of c-“ _wait_. No. Viktor couldn’t possibly be implying that _he_ had cracked how to interface prostheses with the human nervous system. That would be decades ahead of his time, not to mention _incredibly invasive_ if that paper was anything to go by. “I’m sorry, what?”

“It won’t work.”

“You’re saying that like you’ve made a prosthesis that does.”

The disdain he’d previously felt the last time Viktor looked at him was replaced with the sense of a withering look. “Four of them are on my body right now, so I would say that I’ve _made one_ , yes.”

Jayce feels the need to sit down, or at least lean against something. He steadies himself with a hand on the back of the kitchen chair instead. Four… but he’s got a human right hand. Left hand, who knows how much of his legs, and… it’s got to be the third arm. _That’s_ wired into his nerves, somehow. How… who _did_ that for him? Viktor was a lot of things, but there was no way the man could have cut open his back or _whatever_ he’d done on his own.

“ _That’s wired into your spine_?” he eventually croaks out, pointing at the arm.

“It is not a direct connection to the spinal cord, as I would have had to cut through the meninges for that. It connects to several dorsal rami, instead,” Viktor responds, as if this is a lecture and not _him talking about his own body_. “This allows control after significant training to re-map the brain’s mental schema. It also allows sensation, but that has limited use.”

Surely he’s joking. Viktor _has_ to be joking, using a funny bone that he hasn’t _amputated_ yet, because that’s absolutely insane. What’s a _rami_? Is it a nerve? It has to be, and Jayce is suddenly thankful he never took any advanced anatomy. Having a vague understanding of what is going on is assuredly infinitely better than knowing the details. Surely Viktor is joking. Which is why Jayce can’t bring himself to laugh at the incredibly obvious joke.

“…You can _feel_ with that?”

“Only the hand itself. Pressure. It has quite the grip strength, so caution is warranted.”

He feels sick at Viktor’s newest disclosure. There’s metal in there, interfacing with nerves and flesh and who knows what else, and the other man is simply _nonchalant_ about it. As if the surgery involved was nothing more complex than getting a tooth pulled. Maybe he shouldn’t think about it anymore.

“Okay… I. You could read the others?”

Viktor turns his gaze to the small pile on the table, picking out another _PJOP_ issue and flipping through it. He seems to pause a bit longer on each article this time, but… he’s still obviously skimming, which means Jayce has struck out yet again. The same goes for the third. And the fourth. And the final issue. The entire experience is viscerally uncomfortable - standing silently and awkwardly in the kitchen of a man who definitely qualifies as his enemy. Waiting for him to finish the academic journals he’d smuggled into Zaun.

Jayce clears his throat. “So.”

“What?”

“What did you think.”

The cyborg’s head tilts up, as if he hadn’t thought to elucidate Jayce on the subject. “…I believe I appreciate your effort, although the information in this journal is entirely unhelpful to me.”

That’s as close to glowing praise as he’ll get! “That’s… good? There’s a few robotics journals, too. If that’s something you’re… interested in.”

Viktor nods and picks up the next journal. Jayce mentally curses himself for stating the obvious.

* * *

It’s due to the final journal that Jayce gets thrown out onto the streets of Zaun again. Everything had been going swimmingly! They’d exchanged something that might count as pleasantries if someone squinted very hard! Viktor had acknowledged that he’d tried!

And then Viktor’s hand clenches at the pages of the journal, crumpling them slightly.

“Hey, uh, be careful with that.”

He doesn’t respond, instead seeming to freeze as he looks over the words on the page. Jayce isn’t _great_ at reading upside-down, but he recognizes enough to know that it’s that strange ego-stroking article by Professor Pididly. Maybe the man isn’t a fan of Blitzcrank? He can’t imagine _why_ \- a sentient robot is proof that a machine can be imbued with personality, after all, and that’s clearly something Viktor wants - but Zaunites are just _weird_ often enough.

…Is Viktor’s hand shaking? “Look, I’ve got to get these back to the library in the condition I checked them out in. Don’t do that.”

The other man is on him in an instant, left hand grabbing at his throat. Jayce hardly has the chance to breathe in, much less recoil away. _“Did_ he _put you up to this?!”_

“I- who-“

 _“_ I was unaware Piltovians cavorted with _thieves,”_ Viktor says lowly, mask making each word as sibilant as a hiss of steam, “much less _an upstanding citizen such as yourself!_ ”

“Viktor- I don’t know what- _what_ you’re talking about!” he can barely breathe in, oh _gods_ he’s already almost died to Viktor once and this could very well be finishing the job and-

The cyborg practically _rips_ his hand away and Jayce wheezes. “ _Take your journals and_ leave. Whatever your goal was, _you have not achieved it_.”

He was not going to be cowed. Not this time, not after the library where he hadn’t been able to say a word in response, not when he had so much to _say_. “You can’t just jerk me around like a- like a puppet! I’m risking my _livelihood_ here to try to apologize to you and all I get is you choking me over something I don’t even _know_!”

“I owe you _nothing_. Leave-“

“I’ll leave when I want to!” maybe he’s crossing the border from heroic to stupid, but Jayce can hardly find it in himself to care. “Is it _Blitzcrank_? Is that what all of this is about? Are you _angry_ that someone figured out how to make a robot with a personality? Stole your thunder?”

Judging by the whining of Viktor’s third arm charging up, he’s stupid. Really stupid. Jayce grimaces, rage disappearing from his face and replaced with a hint of fear. This isn’t how he wants to go.

“…Fine. I’ll leave. Give me the journals.”

Viktor practically throws them at him.


	8. Chapter Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jayce finally gets some answers - although it's not as if they leave him with anything but more questions.

The journals are crumpled slightly. Jayce isn’t sure why _that’s_ what he focuses on, of all things, as he sits on the ferry back to Piltover - but it’s all that’s in his head. The journals are crumpled. He’ll look careless. What will the University think?

He thinks his neck is going to bruise.

It’s around one in the afternoon when he finally sits down in his own home, but it feels like it’s late at night. The sunlight and snatches of city-noise from outside feels foreign, almost, as Jayce sits at his kitchen table and tries to put together some logical reason for all of this. He’d been close! He’d felt something that could be perceived as camaraderie if he thought about it hard enough! Then that last journal, with that last article, had ruined it all. What about a Zaun-made technological triumph would make Viktor so _enraged_? Was it genuinely someone else doing it first, or… no, that didn’t make sense. Viktor had been ranting about a singular _he_ , and that couldn’t have been Blitzcrank. He - a thief - _cavorting_ , who _used_ cavorting as a word - it all meant _something_ , but he wasn’t sure what.

He was pulling at the end of a rope, aware that there was _something_ on the end of it but entirely unsure of what… or if whatever he found would do anything but make the situation worse. There was something about Viktor and Blitzcrank. Jayce re-reads the article, Pididly’s slimy self-accolades (who let _that_ through editing?) sticking in his mind. It’s disgusting, truthfully. Even if the man is a revolutionary, he writes in a style that fits a conman more than a professor. Perhaps that was a bit _harsh_ of criticism, but Jayce’s gut says not to blindly trust this man or anything he writes. His gut isn’t wrong. Except for Viktor, it seems.

He had been _very_ wrong there. Not that he knew what was right, necessarily, but wasn’t that what he was trying to figure out by looking over this? Maybe he could try to talk to Pididly, as much as the thought made his stomach turn. Get some answers out of him through his charisma, even if he’d hate every moment of it.

Jayce discards that line of thought almost as soon as it fully manifests. He’s had enough of the amber-orange smog of Zaun to last him the rest of the year - although he’s not stupid enough to kid himself into thinking he won’t have to go back there at some point - and he _really_ doesn’t trust himself to talk to a man whose writings alone seem so repugnant. (It’s not as if he’d start swinging or anything as rash as that, but it’s better to err on the side of caution. Especially here and now.) That, of course, leaves the question of who else he could talk to… and the answer, in that case, is also one he doesn’t feel great about.

* * *

Blitzcrank is a hard… Jayce can’t say _man_ of course, Blitzcrank is a hard _being_ to track down. It’s been a month since his last run-in with Viktor, and in that time he’s had a lot of opportunities to think. He returned the journals, of course, and any scolding a student might have received for bent pages was most certainly not given to him. Caitlyn didn’t send a squadron of officers to kick his door in and arrest him for conspiring to commit some crime or another, although he most certainly had at least _one_ dream in which that was the case. Perhaps that was why he hadn’t asked her for more advice. Or perhaps it was just the knowledge that she was a _very_ busy woman and he’d be doing nothing but taking up her time with yet another moral dilemma. Self-doubt is something he’s not felt quite so keenly in some time.

But now is about Blitzcrank, not his own encroaching worries. The golem’s steadfast service to the Institute - and seeming lack of obligations off the Fields - had helped him accrue quite a bit of… well, the Summoners assuredly called it something else, but Jayce was content to refer to it as just _paid time off_. Blitzcrank had taken it and decided to go on a months-long uninterrupted tour of Runeterra. The only reason Jayce knew he was back was the match listing - fortunately without Viktor - for a Zaun-Ionia conflict over potential reparations. Zaun’s supplying of chemical weaponry and trained troops to Noxus had been largely ignored by League matches until now, but Jayce had supposed that was due to Noxus being the initiator of the war… he's never had a head for politics, much less the politics of war.

So he was waiting, attempting to look as if he wanted to be leaning against the polished walls of the Institute. The door to the post-match lobby is locked, of course, but a shimmering field of magic stretches over it to show a live broadcast of the match. Ionia is thoroughly in the lead according to every possible metric. He doesn’t normally watch League matches - the commentary over them reminds him far too much of sports, and he would prefer to keep the two separate in his mind.

Varus is on the broadcast, now, blighted arrows chipping away at Zaun’s Nexus turrets. They fall into rubble as they have hundreds of times before, and the Ionian team then makes quick work of the Nexus. The commentating Summoner lets out a whoop of excitement for the overwhelming victory before the communications magic cuts to an inky, swirling black and begins to fade away.

The Zaunites take practically no time to shuffle out of the room, Singed and Warwick in a heated conversation that hardly breaks its flow as they briefly acknowledge the unexpected presence of Jayce. Warwick bares his teeth - utterly clean of the blood they had dripped on the Fields - and they are gone. Jayce catches a glimpse of the Ionian team, calm and yet obviously moved by their victory, before a large brass form attempts to shimmy its way through the very obviously person-sized door. Blitzcrank’s size makes side-stepping through doorways a fact of life (existence?) for him.

Jayce hadn’t figured out what he was going to say. He waves, instead, and immediately feels foolish as the golem doesn’t break stride. He’s a _robot_ , of course the finer details of social situations are lost on him.

“Blitzcrank?”

All the arm-swinging forward momentum stops in a second as metal feet clank against the floor to turn towards Jayce. “GREETINGS.”

“…Hi.”

Blitzcrank clasps his oversized hands together, mismatched “eyes” fixed on Jayce. He doesn’t move, doesn’t speak, doesn’t ask why Jayce is there and… well, of course he wouldn’t. Good going, Jayce. Stop treating the robot like he’s human. The Ionian team makes their way around the two of them, seeming to not mind the inconvenience.

“I wanted to ask you some questions.”

More silence.

“…About Viktor?”

“WHAT DO YOU WANT TO KNOW ABOUT HIM?”

“Do you know him?”

“YES.”

Jayce is becoming very, very aware about the true depth of the phrase “like pulling teeth”. This conversation already makes him feel like pulling out his own - which isn’t what the phrase means, but it seems apt right now. He pushes on, staring at the golem’s proportionately-small head and flickering eyes. “… _How_ do you know him?”

“VIKTOR WAS THE LEADER OF THE TEAM THAT CREATED ME.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A scrapped idea that wasn't able to make it into the final draft due to pacing concerns:  
> Blitzcrank spent much of his vacation in the Freljord! He met many poros, and also learned how to get poro tongues off of cold metal. (The answer is warm goat's milk.)  
> He sadly did not bring a camera to record his adventures, but the memories are safely stored in his head - and that's what counts. Blitzcrank is certain that the experience has made him understand living things a bit more: they tend to do things that are not in their own self-interest.


	9. Chapter Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The puzzle is finally pieced together, and the picture it shows is one Jayce wishes he didn't see.

Jayce doesn’t know what he’d been expecting. Blitzcrank to hesitate before dropping such a bombshell? His voice to lower from its steady volume? Something, _anything_ , that made this revelation seem _right_? It’s too big and too small all at once, and truthfully he should have guessed the answer long before now.

“…Then why did Stanwick Pididly publish papers on your construction?” another question he knows the answer to.

“PIDIDLY WAS THE ADVISOR FOR THE DOCTORAL PROJECT THAT CONSTRUCTED ME,” a pause, and it’s the most human thing Jayce has seen the golem do, “BUT ONCE I DISPLAYED SENTIENCE, HE CLAIMED CREDIT.”

“He _stole_ credit. Then what?”

“VIKTOR BEGAN A LEGAL CASE. HE DID NOT WIN IT.”

“But- Pididly _stole_ you!”

“PIDIDLY CLAIMED THAT HE WAS THE MAIN CREATOR OF MY INTELLIGENCE AND CHASSIS,” Blitzcrank clasps his hands together with a _clang_. Jayce winces.

“You knew that he was lying! I mean, you… You’re legally a person in Zaun, right, so couldn’t they call you to _testify_? Couldn’t you have _asked_?”

“THERE WAS NO REASON TO.”

“No _reason_? _Here’s_ a reason: Pididly committed a _crime_!” his voice bounces and echoes through the hallway - the area is thankfully empty, now. Talking about this in the open feels _wrong_ even if it is just the two of them, but he doubts that he’d be able to convince Blitzcrank to move elsewhere or be quieter. It’s not like _he’s_ being quiet, now. “You could have stopped it! Made him face justice! You had a whole team of people being wronged!”

“THERE WAS NO LEGAL PRECEDENT FOR A GOLEM TESTIFYING. VIKTOR WAS THE ONLY ONE ON THE TEAM WHO SOUGHT LEGAL COUNSEL.”

“Because he was the leader! Everyone else followed his lead!”

“NO. THE TEAM WAS NOT LISTED AS PLAINTIFFS. THEY TESTIFIED AGAINST HIM,” the golem shakes his head in sharp, sudden jerks - it’s as if he is trying to express pity, and yet…

His voice is the same flat, loud drone regardless of the words he says. Jayce really shouldn’t be surprised at that, but it still feels like a punch to the gut. If he were a human, Jayce would accuse Blitzcrank of lying for some reason or another. But robots… well, it’s not like there are any _other_ sentient robots on Valoran (unless he counts Orianna, and Jayce isn’t sure if she is anything more than an automaton playing at being a dead woman) to contrast Blitzcrank with, but he’s pretty sure robots don’t lie. Robots don’t lie, Viktor’s team betrayed him.

“…Why? Why would they…?”

“ELABORATE,” another pause, another cock of the head, “PLEASE.”

“ _Why would they side with Pididly_ when they were _stolen_ from!” he feels small, standing next to Blitzcrank, and smaller still at the dawning understanding that _he knows so little_. That he believed a thief’s writing. That he was taken in, again, by his ignorance.

“ALL OF THE TEAM, EXCEPT VIKTOR, WAS COMPENSATED FOR THEIR TIME IN BUILDING ME.”

“What’s _that_ supposed to mean?”

“THEY RECEIVED THEIR DOCTORAL DEGREES. ALL OF THEM CURRENTLY WORK IN THE ROBOTICS SECTOR OR RELATED FIELDS: I HAVE REACHED OUT,” an unsettling, mechanical laugh that is obviously for a pun that only Blitzcrank finds funny, “TO THEM BUT NONE ARE INTERESTED IN TALKING TO ME.”

“…The College didn’t let him graduate? Because he _dared_ to try to get _credit_?”

It somehow doesn’t feel odd, going to bat for Viktor. If Jayce stepped back long enough to put this man, Viktor the Doctoral Student, in line behind Viktor the Machine Herald - maybe it would. But this is a tale more sordid than any of the rumors and Piltovian-press-backed stories that come out of Zaun, more stomach-twisting than tales of Shimmer addicts rotting in the streets with terror playing out on their opalescent skin, than human test subjects procured willingly with only a wave of a stuffed billfold. Those, at least, he could rationalize as having done so of their own volition. But a man isn’t stolen from because he _requests it_. A future career isn’t destroyed due to _consent_. Viktor had tried to play a fair game in a crooked city.

Blitzcrank’s voice is louder than the rush of blood in Jayce’s ears. “VIKTOR WITHDREW FROM THE DOCTORAL PROGRAM.”

“And you expect me to believe that he wouldn’t have been kicked out if he hadn’t?!”

“I EXPECT NOTHING OF YOU.”

Isn’t that the truth. He’s a hero to Piltover and a non-factor to Zaun. Because of _course_ Viktor is different than Singed and Warwick and Dr. Mundo, all men who had chosen their paths in gas and blood and body parts willingly, all men who were paraded about by Zaun as scientific giants. Viktor’s work - his surgeries (which, with dawning horror, Jayce has realized are performed by a _robotics scientist_ and not a surgeon) and prostheses, even his goal of becoming a _machine_ … it’s all seen as inconsequential in Zaun, isn’t it? His work isn’t for war or spectacle, he isn’t beloved for his nature like Jinx or Twitch or even Blitzcrank and _that’s_ why Viktor is rarely called to the Fields. _That’s_ why Jayce got away with what he did, attacking a soon-to-be-Champion at his place of work. Zaun couldn’t care less about Viktor, and wasn’t _that_ more damning than if it hated him.

He’s not _entertaining_ to that city-state. Maybe they’d already had their fun with him, during the trial. Point-and-laugh at a man who went against everything Zaun stood for and burned for it.

“…Yeah,” Jayce says finally, rubbing at an eye as he looks up at Blitzcrank. “I guess I don’t expect you to. I… thanks. For telling me this.”

Blitzcrank isn’t human, for all his body language apes humanity’s. He’s a heavy being of iron and steel with a supposed heart of gold, powered by steam rather than food and drink. He isn’t human, and he doesn’t try to be… and yet, Jayce felt inclined to thank him. Can Blitzcrank even _feel_ gratitude? Can he feel anything at all? Or is it all empty motions and actions, a show put on for the supposed comfort of others - grease and oil for the gears of social interaction?

“YOU ARE WELCOME,” the golem turns away with a whistle of steam, legs beginning to carry him down the hallway.

“Wait-“ the word is plaintive. “What was he like? Viktor - when he… before the court case.”

Blitzcrank doesn’t bother to turn around for his response. Perhaps, if he were human, he would have turned his neck and spoke over his shoulder. Perhaps, if he were human, his answer would be different.

“LIKE ANY OTHER FLESHLING,” and he bustles away.


	10. Chapter Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Worries, speculation, catharsis.

It’s torture, sitting with what he now knows. This whole thing had started out as… _gods_ , it’s hard for Jayce to recall anymore with his head swimming with questions and answers and uncertainties. It had started, really, with a blow to his head. Then the odd hospitality of Viktor.

Then Jayce’s squandering of that for the sake of his own damn curiosity and fear. Would things have been different if he hadn’t gone searching for clues? Would he even _be here_ , lying awake at night in his own bed thinking about all of this?

Maybe. After that came his attempt to turn Viktor in to the only authority that _could_ deal with him. He’d stopped _that_ out of fear - it seems silly now, accusing _Viktor_ of playing some sort of three-dimensional chess game. The man couldn’t even play the system he’d been raised in. He was probably _genuinely_ turning himself in, there, and Jayce had stopped that in a particularly genius display of overthinking. Then their discussion, his realization, him _leaving_ -

Gods, he left Viktor there after the man had put his heart on his sleeve. He’d felt fear and shame and guilt and used them to run away instead of _sitting there_ with his mistakes. He’d hurt people, people he didn’t know the stories of - people he couldn’t apologize to. Truthfully, people that would be better off if he never bothered them again. Has it ever been about apologizing to them, or has it always been about apologizing to Viktor? Viktor is a more reasonable target, after all, because he’d hurt Jayce too - in that regard, they were equal victims. His hands still feel as if they are burning, sometimes, although the skin has healed as much as it could.

Thinking about all of this is doing nothing for him, so Jayce flips his pillow over to the cool side and tries to drift off from exhaustion if nothing else.

* * *

Jayce catches a few hours of uneasy sleep until a particularly bad dream wakes him. It’s something that he’s already forgotten some of as he sits up with a gasp - all he recalls is eyes and mouths and fingers staring and talking and pointing at him, headlines blaring from radios - but he’s not going to get back to sleep anytime soon. The clock on his nightstand says it’s three in the morning, and he clicks on his bedside lamp with a clenching of his eyes.

Where was he in his recollections? In putting together the puzzle of the past few months into something approaching order? Caitlyn, yes. Caitlyn and her claim that he’d be brain-damaged (yes, alright, that was paraphrasing) if he ever stopped opposing the Glorious Evolution. Caitlyn and the line she walked between being just and fair. It seemed that things rarely were both, no matter where you went.

Is he going crazy if he can see where Viktor is coming from, now? The man had something that was supposed to be a crowning achievement stolen from him, his team betrayed him, and his city had done _nothing_. Wouldn’t Jayce have wanted to run away from that too? Maybe not to the extent of trying to excise his humanity, but… pain was pain, and no one wanted to be in it.

It was a bad choice to make, but it was _Viktor’s_ choice. Not anyone else’s. Not after he’d had so much taken away. It was the acolytes’ choices too, whether or not they’d follow Viktor to his self-destructive end. The issue was, again, when that choice wasn’t one any more. If Viktor did become truly emotionless, would he care so much about things like _consent_ over _efficiency_? A robotic world would certainly be more _efficient_ , certainly more free of _pain_ \- but just as free of joy.

A thin line to walk. Does Viktor even know the balancing act that his work entails?

So then there was Jayce’s attempt at an apology, with the journals. He cringes with hindsight at that - giving a man an article on the invention he’d gotten stolen from him is a particularly egregious mistake, even if Jayce hadn’t had even the faintest understanding of the truth. It doesn’t make Viktor’s explosive anger _acceptable_ , of course, he’s not stupid enough to absolve Viktor of choking him. But it’s not like he’d just left the other man alone when asked - he _had_ to get in a dig. No one’s really blameless here, are they?

He’s not getting back to sleep any time soon, and sitting up in his bed isn’t particularly productive. Jayce gets to his feet, deciding that he might as well get a pot of coffee going if he’s going to be awake.

The coffee doesn’t help. He’d turned on the lights in his kitchen, because sitting and brooding in the dark is something that he didn’t do even as a teenager, but that just made the empty streets outside feel as if they were watching him. This house is a product of his heroism, too - Piltover’s city council had awarded it to him when he became a Champion, something about a hero not needing to live in an apartment. It had taken him a while to get enough furniture to make it feel less empty, more lived in.

Blitzcrank. That’s where he was at in his thoughts. He’d really been starting to see the robot as a person, re-evaluating his behavior on the Fields as simply being battle-ready. (Wasn’t Jayce different on the Fields, after all? All style and quotables?) But… well, actually _talking_ to Blitzcrank had changed that. He wasn’t like any person Jayce had met before, up to and including Viktor.

Viktor rejected his obvious humanity, didn’t he? It explained the outfit he usually wore: every inch of the other man was covered by metal or armor or clothes except for, oddly enough, his _hair_ and perhaps his ears. It explained how he talked in public. It explained all the times something deeper than that persona had been exposed. He rejected his humanity, but he was still very much human.

Blitzcrank wasn’t human, and any attempts at _acting_ human were for… fitting in, probably. Being more agreeable, less foreign. More for the benefit of others than himself. Did other people find him pleasant, with his simulated laughs and over-emphasized body language? Zaun certainly seemed to. But Jayce… Jayce has always been good at being social, at joining and leaving conversations with ease and charisma, and all he sees in Blitzcrank is a robot that’s replicated the unwritten social code of the world without any care for _why_ it was that way.

Viktor, at least, is honest in his disdain.

* * *

The sun rises in a blaze. Summer is rapidly approaching - there’s nothing but long days and clear skies forecasted for Piltover, as usual. Jayce won’t be spending today in Piltover, though.

He’d made that decision somewhere between his second cup of coffee and breakfast. If he didn’t go to Zaun now, if he didn’t apologize to Viktor _now_ , when would he? He’d lose his nerve (or regain his senses) in the coming days. He’d justify not going for some reason or another, tell himself that he was worried about what the ever-present press would think - what Piltover would think, how Caitlyn and all the others would react. Tell himself he was being absurd to think that Viktor was capable of receiving an apology. _Something_ to dissuade himself from doing what was hard, but right. So he’ll catch the first ferry to Zaun today, take the shortest route to Viktor’s house, and hope he isn’t cut in two by a laser before he can get out his apology. Then his work was… not done, of course, but the ball was in Viktor’s court on how he’d react. The best-case scenario is a begrudging acceptance. The worst, of course, involves the aforementioned laser. In reality (or at least what he _hopes_ is reality) Viktor’s reaction will probably be somewhere between those extremes.

Zaun’s skies are its typical self-inflicted overcast. It doesn’t bother Jayce as much as it did on his previous visits. Maybe it wasn’t that bad today. Maybe he was getting used to it. The train ride isn’t awful, either. There’s still just as much graffiti on each train car, just as much reckless destruction of the inside. But it’s less starkly horrifying. This is just _Zaun_ , for better or for worse. They probably feel just the same about Piltover.

He finds himself at Viktor’s doorstep with nothing but a sense of calm determination. If this goes well, it goes well. If it doesn’t, well, it’s best not to think about that. Simple things. simple logic. He knocks.

It takes a minute, but Viktor’s familiar (and when did it start being _familiar_ , rather than foreign?) mask appears in a sliver of open doorway. “Leave.”

“Let me say what I came here to say.”

The door opens a fraction more.

…He really should have prepared something to say. “I know why you got upset about Blitzcrank. I talked to him and he told me about what happened to you-“

Viktor slams the door shut - the unmistakable sound of locks clicking comes next. Well. At least it wasn’t a laser to the face.

Jayce continues. Maybe he’s monologuing to a door and nothing more. Maybe Viktor is standing behind the door, obscured by it. Does it really matter, so long as he says what he needs to? “What happened to you _wasn’t right_. I don’t know if I could do anything about that. It’s been years, I’m not a Zaunite… I could try to discredit him, you know? Piltover would believe me, I think. I wouldn’t bring you into it. You’ve had enough. But, with Blitzcrank… you really wanted to help people, didn’t you? To have a waste-disposal robot be your doctoral project? You could have picked something else, something more exciting. You were the team leader. But… you picked that. I think you’re still trying to help people, now. When I was looking for those journals, I… look, my name was the only one in a lot of the prosthetics journals’ checkout-cards. There’s just one group of doctors publishing on the subject. Maybe you _are_ just filling a niche that needs to be filled. Giving people back what they lost. Maybe that’s okay - good, even. Maybe… I don’t think you _need_ to become a robot, alright? I don’t think that’s how you should run away from all of this.”

He sighs heavily, shifting his weight. “But who am I to tell you that, right? I’m not in your shoes. I don’t know how I’d react. I’m not going to try to stop you on that, anymore. Be a robot - or whatever term you want to use, I know you told me that robot isn’t right - if you want. Just… you can’t assume that that’s what’s best for others. You can _never_ assume that it would be better for people to be like you. I don’t want to be. I want to be human. I want to keep my emotions, even though they might hurt me sometimes. I don’t want to have _limited sensation_ in my body because I’m metal instead of flesh. And a lot of other people want just the same.”

Maybe he’s rambling. Maybe he should get to the point. Jayce sucks in a breath. “I made the mistake of assuming I knew what was best for others, what they wanted. I hurt people who had already lost _too damn much_ , and I know I can’t make up for that with this apology… or anything I can do, other than just staying as far away from your acolytes as I can. But… I wanted to show you that I’ve thought about it. That I get it, maybe. Not all of it. But… enough.”

“I’m sorry, Viktor. I’m sorry for everything I did. I’m sorry for what Zaun did to you.”

There is utter silence, and Jayce is gripped with the absurdity of the situation. Of course Viktor wouldn’t listen. He had no reason to, after everything that’s happened. He probably went off to his office or workroom or _whatever it was_ and Jayce had just emotionally bared himself to empty air. How else would it have gone?

Jayce laughs hollowly, turning away from the door. “I’m going, now. Sorry I took you away from your work.”

There’s a series of clicks behind him, and then Viktor’s voice. “You aren’t leaving.”

“I- oh, you were…” Jayce turns back to face him, eyes wide. He doesn’t hear the hum of the third arm charging, but… “ _Oh_. I… look, you probably don’t want to talk. I’ll just go.”

Viktor’s shoulders are squared, and he stands tall. “Come inside.”

What else is Jayce to do, if not shuffle inside like a prisoner on his way to his execution?

* * *

The house is just as Jayce remembers it. The kitchen is just as Jayce remembers it. Why was he brought in here? Surely whatever Viktor has finally _snapped_ and decided to do is going to be messy. Can he even blame the other man? All he’s done is poke and prod at Viktor’s darkest moments in an attempt to figure him out. It doesn’t matter what reasons it was for, the end result is the same - old memories being stirred up like a cloud of silt on a riverbed. Things best left undisturbed for everyone’s sake.

Why is Viktor clearing away a spot at the table? Is he going to have Jayce sit for his inevitable death? Maybe that’s more efficient.

“Sit down.”

Jayce does.

“I am going to make you tea.”

“ _What?_ ” What.

“I am going to make you tea, Jayce.”

“…I thought you were going to-” wait, no, maybe he shouldn’t mention that he thought Viktor was going to kill him, “I, uh, you don’t have to. Make me tea, I mean. I don’t want to impose.”

Viktor stares at him from behind the mask, completely frozen. Then he turns on his heel and makes his way to a row of kitchen cabinets, producing an appliance from one that looks like a malformed kettle atop a boiler with a tap. _Of course_ Zaunites have their own way of making tea. Would Jayce expect anything less at this point?

Jayce watches with interest at the process, at how foreign it is in comparison to Piltover’s way. The kettle itself seems to be for highly concentrated tea, judging by the amount of loose tea-leaves Viktor’s put in… hopefully there’s a strainer. Viktor’s motions are practiced - if he needs two hands, and his left’s prosthesis is too bulky for the task, his third swoops over or under his shoulder as a replacement. It’s still bizarre, of course, because having tea made for you by someone who you were _just convinced_ wanted you dead is bizarre. Seeing someone with a cut-out on the back of their sweater for a _third arm_ is bizarre. But Viktor shows no sign of caring about the strangeness of it all.

…Why is Viktor making him tea? There has to be a logic to it, somewhere, because no matter how hard he _wants_ to be a robot, he’s human. Humans don’t glitch and malfunction and serve their rivals (or whatever he was to Viktor) a hot beverage. There has to be a reason.

“Oh,” Jayce says as the water boils with a whistle.

This is Viktor accepting his apology, isn’t it? Accepting it in the most roundabout way possible, but accepting it nevertheless. The man would _never_ be direct about such a thing. This explains his insistence, his odder-than-usual mannerisms, his calling Jayce _Jayce_. Viktor’s trying, in his own way.

“It is different to your city’s style of brewing,” Viktor says stiffly, placing a matching cup and saucer in front of him. “It produces stronger flavors.”

Jayce isn’t a fan of tea from _any_ city-state, especially not without cream and sugar. But he looks up to Viktor, standing by him and _waiting_ , and is well-aware of what asking for something more would actually mean. He sighs softly. “You can sit down, you know. Even if you’re not going to have a cup.”

Viktor’s shoulders rise in what Jayce can only interpret as surprise, but he sits at the other cleared spot. He’s still waiting, still watching, perhaps even still doubting Jayce’s sincerity. Perhaps he expects Jayce to get up and walk out the door. There is a wealth of paranoid speculation here, all _ifs_ and _coulds_ , and there is only one way to end it all.

Jayce lifts the cup to his lips, closes his eyes, and drinks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There _will_ be an epilogue, so stay tuned. But the main show is over! Thank you for coming along with me on this ride - your words of encouragement were of great help to me.


	11. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And now, a more Zaunite point of view.

Jayce has been sent off with a stiff wave - the man was practically grinning ear-to-ear as he went, for reasons Viktor couldn’t quite deduce. Was it the other man’s apology that had caused such a lightening of spirits? Perhaps Jayce had needed to “get something off his chest”, or whatever the phrase was. It didn’t particularly matter if he was happy or not, did it? The thoughts and emotions of others were inconsequential to the Glorious Evolution.

Viktor cleans up the kitchen area quickly enough, washing both teacup and samovar by hand. Something _feels_ different about his home, now, something more than the pile of papers he had to disturb to give Jayce a place to sit. It is as if the world has shifted, slightly, and he didn’t move with it. He shoos that thought away with a small shake of his head. It is simply Jayce’s unexpected appearance that caused this difference, a break in his routine and nothing more. It will be fixed.

* * *

Something in Viktor (one of the last damnable dregs of emotion left in him, if he had to specify) is telling him to go upstairs to his room. The urge is one he would usually cast aside with ease - logically, it is a desire to retreat to a self-defined sanctuary - but everything else is askew enough that it is an idea he decides to indulge. He leaves his mask on the kitchen table before ascending the stairs, their faded carpeting hardly giving beneath his metal feet. His room is just as he left it, of course, bed still somewhat unmade and a medical textbook still open on the nightstand.

It is a very _human_ room, unfortunately. It contains the artifacts of his childhood to his college days, if an observant eye knows where to look. Viktor reaches beneath his small bed, drawing out a small box covered with a substantial layer of dust. His hands leave asymmetrical prints on its lid and sides. Why, of all times and places, is he compelled to revisit this _now_? It is something best buried and forgotten, if not burned. But he’s never had the heart for this sort of destruction.

He opens the box, and his face stares up at him. Not just his own, of course, there is Agata and Mikhail and Jan and the rest of the doctoral team, faces beaming with pride and youth. His is just the same. Viktor shuffles through the photographs and newspaper clippings, through the scribbled notes of progress. A team leader is in charge of preserving documents, obviously, and the court had deemed these too unimportant to be admitted into evidence. No one had asked for them - and, truthfully, Viktor would not have given them up so easily.

These are the faces and writings of the people who betrayed him. They had taken what Pididly had offered: a letter of recommendation to compliment their doctorates, money to alleviate their debts, and gone on to work at the cutting edges of their fields. It would be easier if this were his version of a bounty board, faces ready to be blacked out once he had exacted his revenge, but Viktor’s life is not a story. These people are not the villains in a tale in which he is the hero - perhaps that would be an appropriate fiction for Piltover, one man struggling against an evil cabal.

He knows there was no plotting against him, no group effort to undermine his leadership. The others had chosen the Zaunite way, the way he had been _naïvely unaware_ of, and he had chosen wrongly. He had hated them once, hated how their success had come at the cost of his own. _That_ had been one of the many emotions that had burned through him as a fire through fresh kindling, one of the emotions deadened due to his pursuit of the Glorious Evolution. Whatever is settling into his chest now is not hatred or rage, although it hurts just as acutely.

Viktor closes his box of memories, and weeps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's really done! The credits have rolled, the mid-credits hidden scene has played, all of that good stuff... Onto the acknowledgements.
> 
> Thank you to MEGA and Arcy, who sat through the very first drafts of chapters one and two. Those were rough days, to say the least! The fact that you two kept reading - and wanting more, no less - is something very nice.  
> Thank you to Ikley, for your feedback on a few chapters (especially the epilogue)! Also, for being one of the longest-running Viktor fans that there is.  
> Thank you to Chris for beta'ing most of these chapters and putting up with many conversations about the nature of Jayce as a character. Also for being a big help with Blitzcrank's characterization and how to apply a consistently non-human way of thinking to our favorite steam-powered robot, even if he only appears for one chapter!  
> Thank you to Tyelp and Jock for reading the final chapter and helping make this epilogue become a reality! Also for general Viktor and Jayce discussions, of course.
> 
> Finally, thank you to all my other readers that I haven't named individually! Again: your support has meant a lot to me. It's always fun to write, but it's even better with an audience.


End file.
